Hand in hand, we walked down to the surf. It was quiet and calm, and in the distance, I heard kids squealing with laughter, but aside from that and the waves, there was nothing. It was perfect. With my phone shut off and a thousand miles from New York, it was almost easy to imagine that there was nothing crazy going on in my life. I looked at Aidan. The guy I’d known for only seven months.
He glanced at me and smiled. “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” I said, surprising us both.
“Good things or bad things?”
“Good. All good.”
He gestured to the sand and we took a seat. The air was warm and smelled of the sea. I felt languid enough to become part of the ocean. Just let my bones slip into liquid and float away on waves.
“I really want to thank you,” I said to him.
“For?”
I leaned my head on his shoulder. It was a nice shoulder. “For putting up with all the insanity. I don’t know a lot of men who would stick around for this—even guys who were a few years in.”
“Well, I wouldn’t stick around for just anyone, you know? You’re kinda special.”
“Special as in ‘that girl is eating her hair’ special?”
He chuckled. “See what I mean? You make me laugh.”
“Back at ya. Laughter is the best medicine. Unless you’re really sick, then you should go to the hospital. Guess I should thank you for that, too. Putting up with me through a broken nose.”
“We’ve gone through a lot together, haven’t we?” he asked.
I nodded. “We have, indeed.” We were silent a moment and then I said, “If this were a romantic comedy this is the part where you’d propose.”
“Jesus, Sibby, really?”
I lifted my head from his shoulder. “What?”
He rolled his eyes skyward, which I could barely see in the dying light. “Why you gotta beat me to the punch?”
“I was kidding!” I shrieked. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull cawed.
“Well, I’m not.”
“Well, you should be,” I stated. “You don’t ask a girl to marry you when neither of you have jobs and no idea where your lives are going.”
“That’s exactly when you ask a girl to marry you! It’s easy to propose when shit’s good and stuff. But what about when it’s all going wrong, but you have so much fun together you don’t care how much crap you have to sift through, you’d do it with the person next to you.” He looked at me. “What? No smart ass retort?”
“I—” I didn’t know what to say. When he put it that way, it made it hard to want to do the logical thing. Doing the logical thing hadn’t been working out for me. It was boring and plain.
Logical was a dry turkey sub.
Had the last few months taught me nothing?
“We don’t even live together!” I snapped.
“Then I’ll move in,” he snapped back.
“Fine!”
“Fine?”
“Yeah, fine to you moving in, fine to marrying you! You happy? This is supposed to be romantic, you dink, and now we’re fighting!”
“What do you want from me? I proposed on a beach.”
I glared at him, and I was sure he was glaring at me, but I couldn’t tell in the near dark.
“Are you turned on right now?” he demanded.
“Very.”
“Want to go back to the room and have wild crazy engagement sex?”
“Definitely!”
He stood up and then reached down to help me. He took me into his arms and leaned down to kiss me when something dropped on my shoulder.
“What was that?”
I felt Aidan chuckle against me. “I think a bird just pooped on you. But hey, it’s supposed to be good luck.”
Chapter 24
Fernet-Branca [fur-nay-brank-ah]:
1. An Italian mint flavored digestif.
2. Tastes like toothpaste with alcohol. Pass.
After showering off my good luck, I got lucky. Very lucky. We ordered room service, which was totally frivolous, but I tried not to worry about it.
“I have some ideas about the future,” Aidan said, when we were sitting outside on our private balcony. We were enjoying strawberries and a bottle of champagne under the stars. I had Aidan open the bottle—I didn’t want to take any more risks with champagne corks.
“I thought you didn’t care about that stuff.”
“Do you really think I would’ve proposed if I didn’t have an idea of what comes next?”
“I thought you were a ‘man without a plan’ and that you were okay with that.”
“I am okay with that. But you’re not that kind of woman. You need security. I want to give you that.”
“Even by changing who you are?”
He shrugged. “Gotta evolve. Separates us from the beasts, right?”
“I thought our opposable thumbs proved we were already evolved.”
“Focus.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“I really like the hospitality industry,” he said.
“Why?”
He glared at me.
“Sorry, shutting up.”
“As I said, I really like the hospitality industry, but I hate having a boss.” He looked at me, and I nodded for him to continue. “Caleb and I have decided to open our own bar.”
I blinked. “Really?”
He nodded. “We want to be partners. He likes bartending, so he’s cool with being the front man. I’m good at managing, so it works. We found a place and have investors. It’s right around Franklin and Calyer.”
“You guys are opening a bar in Greenpoint?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Why not the Upper East Side?”
He shook his head. “I don’t fit in there anymore, Sibby. I’ve bought one too many flannels.”
I started to laugh. “Wow, you guys are really opening a bar.”
He nodded. “What do you think?”
“I think we have a lot to celebrate,” I said, jumping up from the chair and launching myself at him. I perched on his lap and kissed him soundly. “You asked me to marry you before you told me about the bar.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanted to see if I loved you for you, huh?”
He grinned. “Maybe.”
I cupped his cheeks in my hands. “You done good. I’m proud of you. Does that sound condescending?”
“Yes.”
I playfully punched him.
“But I know you didn’t mean it that way, so it’s all okay.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Sometimes life is totally a romantic comedy.”
He shook his head. “Sibby. If that were the case, we would’ve met in a really cute way, like at a book store or a coffee shop—not at a bar on the night you got fired and you found your boyfriend cheating on you with a dude. And a bird wouldn’t have crapped on you during my proposal.”
“Made our story special, though, huh?”
“Special.” He smiled. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t get you a ring yet,” he said.
“That’s okay.” We were lazing by the resort pool under a canopy and I was sleepy with sun and piña coladas.
“I didn’t want to give you something to throw at my head.”
I laughed.
“Just kidding, I wanted you to pick it out yourself. You know, to be sure you actually like it.”
“You could’ve asked Annie what I like.”
“I didn’t want her to slip up and tell you.”
“Well done.”
“Not all things are done by the seat of my pants,” he said, pretending to be affronted.
“And what a nice seat it is,” I sighed dreamily. “She totally would’ve spoiled it, too. Annie can’t keep a secret. Not from me anyway.”
“Don’t you want to call her and tell her the good news? Or what about your parents?”
“I’ll call them from the airport on
our way home,” I said, my eyes closing. “I want to stay unplugged a little while longer.”
“You’re not scared of what they’re going to say, are you?” he asked knowingly.
“I can hear it now, ‘Mazel Tov, Sib! Congrats on the engagement! So now what are you going to do? Have you sent out any resumes yet? What kind of job are you looking for? How much money do you have saved?’”
Jewish guilt, it’s a thing.
“That wasn’t a very good impression of your mother.”
I snorted. “It was supposed to be my father.”
“Oh. In that case, the impersonation was uncanny.”
“I need another drink,” I said, sitting up.
“Ms. Goldstein?”
“Yes?” I asked, looking at the concierge who approached.
“You have a call,” he said, handing me a phone.
“I have a call?” I asked.
“I tried to take a message for you, but the caller is most insistent on speaking with you.”
“Who is it?” I asked, taking the phone.
When the concierge told me who was on the phone I didn’t believe him, and from the look on Aidan’s face, neither did he. I put the phone to my ear. “You are so not the funniest person in the world, Annie. I’m revoking your best friend title.”
“Ms. Goldstein?”
I frowned in confusion. Either Annie was faking a deep, masculine voice really well or she’d gotten a voice box transplant.
“Ms. Goldstein?”
“Yes,” I croaked. “Here. Sorry.”
“You’re a hard woman to track down.”
“Yeah, well, I’m on vacation,” I said. “Who am I speaking to?”
Holy. Shit.
“Is this some sort of prank?” I demanded.
“No, it’s not.”
“I don’t believe you.” I shot a look at Aidan, who was watching me in confusion.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t. Ask the concierge about your hotel room. Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
I looked at the concierge, but before I could say anything he said, “Your stay has been taken care of in full by the gentleman on the phone.” As he finished his sentence, a waiter with a bottle of champagne came over and set the tray down next to us, filling our glasses and nodding before heading off.
I heard the voice on the phone say, “Yeah, you’re welcome. Now listen I wanted to ask you something…”
“I’m going to throw up,” I said. “I’m going to throw up on network television.”
“You can do this,” Aidan said, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Hey, hey, look at me, look at me.”
I looked at him.
“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”
“No. I tried, but I just couldn’t fall asleep. I feel like the walking dead, but I’ve had so much coffee I’m jittery.”
“It’s okay. Just pretend you’re talking to a fifteen top. All you have to do is be your usual charming, witty self.”
“I can’t do that on command. What was I thinking? This is crazy.”
“You were an actor in college,” Aidan stage whispered.
“Not a good one! Why do you think I became a writer?”
“So you could wear pajamas all day long?”
“It’s like you know me,” I said, momentarily distracted. “My dress okay? Do I stink of fear?”
“You’re wearing my deodorant. Nothing is getting through that. You got this. Just smile and relax, and it will all be over soon.”
“That’s what they tell death row inmates!”
“Hey, save the humor for the audience.”
“You ready to go on?” a producer with a clipboard and a wireless headset asked. “We have to go now.”
“Uhmmm, okay.”
“Just look at the host. Talk to him, and pretend no one else is around. He’ll get you through.”
“Was this your idea?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “I wish. It’s brilliant. Huge fan, by the way. That thing with the cork was amazing. Okay, go on out there.” She gave me a little push, and with one last look in Aidan’s direction, I walked out from behind the stage into the studio.
The lights were bright, and as the audience clapped and yelled, I waved and then tripped on my way up the steps to the chair. I grinned widely, and then shrugged it off as the audience laughed. I shook the host’s hand and he gestured to the guest chair. I took a seat and the audience calmed down.
“That was some entrance,” he said with a smile.
“Sibby’s Law,” I explained. “I make Murphy look goooood. Stuff goes wrong around me.”
The audience laughed and the host chuckled. “Thanks for being here tonight.”
“You wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” I quipped.
“It’s true,” the host said as he looked directly at the audience. “I tracked her down. She was in some tropical place.” He pointed to my bare shoulders in my sleeveless dress. “You’ve got a little sunburn going on there.”
“It’s not a sunburn, it’s a Jewish tan.”
I felt my nerves unfurl as the audience laughed.
“Aside from that trip up the stairs, you don’t seem nervous. Are you nervous?”
“My fiancé talked me off a ledge right before I came on stage.” I shot a look towards the direction of Aidan. “Oops. I don’t think I was supposed announce that we’re engaged. My parents are so going to kill me. Hi, Mom! Tell Bubbe I love her!” I waved to the cameras and the audience went wild.
I had four minutes left before I could slink off stage. Just enough time to spill water all over myself, get a run in my stocking while crossing my legs to cover the spill, and reach out more than once to play with the host’s cheeks.
Bless his heart, he let me.
“They’re like Play-Doh,” I told the cheering audience as the host blushed and smiled.
My time on stage wrapped up and, with one last pinch of the host’s cheek, I exited the stage. A producer ushered Aidan and me out the door towards a waiting limousine, and I started to think I could get used to this sort of treatment.
Jewish American Princess?
Check.
As the car pulled away and turned into traffic, Aidan put his arm around me. I snuggled up into him and sighed.
“Was I okay?” I asked.
“Okay? You were perfect.”
“She’s your mother,” Aidan said with a grimace. “You have to talk to her.” He thrust my cell phone at me.
“Hi, Mom,” I said tiredly as I paced around the living room of my apartment. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way. No, I wasn’t high on dope.” I rolled my eyes. “No, I wasn’t drunk. Seriously, I was just sleep deprived and hopped up on caffeine to compensate. Well, I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to tell your Mahjong group that I don’t deal well with the stage.”
I held the phone away from my ear for a moment, put it back, and thrust it away from me again, and said to Aidan, “I can’t keep anything to myself. Why did I have to go and announce our engagement on television?”
He grinned.
I shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Just a little. Okay, a lot,” he clarified.
“Mom…Mom…Mom, Mom! Stop! Yes, I’m engaged. Yes, to Aidan. Who else would it be? No, no, no, I’m not dating anyone else in secret. No, for the last time, I’m not pregnant! Mom, go eat your whitefish salad, I’ll call you later, okay?”
I hung up and said to Aidan, “We just had a vacation. Why am I still exhausted? And if you say my life is exhausting, I’m gonna punch you.”
“Wanna talk about something else?”
“Sure.”
“I want to move my stuff in,” Aidan said.
I nodded. “Should we do it tomorrow? We’re having dinner with Caleb and Annie tonight.”
“We are? Did I know about this?”
“No, of course not. You’re the guy. You just show up when I tell you to sh
ow up.”
“Is that going to be the theme of our life?”
“It already is,” I teased.
“So what about the wedding? When is that going to happen?”
“I don’t really want talk about the wedding, okay? Eloping is starting to become an appealing option.”
“I’m down with that.”
“Hah. My mother would never forgive me. She found out about our engagement on television, along with the rest of America. That’s one strike against us and we’re not even married yet.”
He sighed. “So, you’re going to let her decide everything, huh?”
“You ever try telling a Jewish mother she can’t plan her daughter’s wedding?”
“Uhm, no.”
“Yeah, you don’t. Just let her plan, and I’ll show up when and where I’m told to show up.”
“I thought that was my job.”
“We have the same job,” I explained. I had already mentally caved. I was not going to fight my mother on wedding details. I could see it now—goofy, poofy dress, too many flowers, and too many guests.
“Are we getting married under one of those tent thingies?”
“It’s called a chuppah, and yes, I imagine so.”
“Do I get to break a glass?” he asked, his eyes lighting with excitement.
“Totally. And when the wedding is over, you and I get to do the horizontal hora.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Welcome back,” the host said.
I settled into the guest chair and grinned. “Thanks for having me again.”
“You were so much fun the last time, and besides, I need another cheek massage.”
“I was a mess. You’re a gentleman to pretend otherwise.” I winked.
“The last time you were here, you were a recently unemployed waitress with a viral video, and now you’re a New York Times best selling author.”
“Life’s funny, huh?”
“So tell me how that happened? Usually when people go viral it’s over pretty soon, but here you are.”
“Yeah, I got kind of lucky. While I was waiting tables, I began writing a book. One night at the restaurant, I met a literary agent. She gave me her card and told me to contact her when I had a manuscript completed. She sounded genuinely interested in reading it. I thought, ‘Nah, nothing will come from it.’”
Tales of a New York Waitress Page 21